One Strike Away
by sideeffectsofjay
Summary: Morgan, Reid, and Rossi travel to Chicago to attend the Cubs' Opening Day as well as spend time with Morgan's family. Reid discovers that Morgan still hasn't told his family about his deepest secret, and has a hard time deciding whether or not to confront him about it. Meanwhile, being in an unfamiliar city brings about restless demons of Reid's own.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'm a huge Cubbies fan and today is Opening Day. I know that Rossi is a fan as well, and that Morgan is from Chicago so that's where the idea came from. It was going to be a one-shot, but I kept getting more and more ideas so I decided to make it longer. It'll probably end up being three chapters. Focuses mostly on Reid and Morgan's brotherly relationship, but there is no shortage of Rossi! I do not own Criminal Minds or the Chicago Cubs.**

" _Every strike brings me closer to the next home run." - Babe Ruth_

The cab of the airplane is hot, stuffy, and there's a small child screaming somewhere in the back. Spencer Reid presses his sweating forehead a little harder against the plexiglass window of the plane, staring aimlessly at the endless white clouds below. He isn't afraid of flying. In fact, he flies almost every week with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The difference today though? Reid is flying commercial, in the somewhat confined economy class section. This is a big change from the FBI's spacious jet with the leather seats and their very own coffee machine.

Reid isn't afraid, but he is somewhat claustrophobic and a whole lot germophobic. " _Do you have any idea how many germs float around an airplane at any given second? It's fifty-six percent safer to use a public restroom and not wash your hands afterwards."_ This is what he'd told Derek Morgan at six o'clock this morning, who had showed up banging on his apartment door with three tickets to see the Chicago Cubs on Opening Day.

"Reid? Are you okay?" The young agent turns his attention away from the window and to the eldest agent of the BAU. Rossi and Morgan had been chatting the entire time about which players had traded teams, who had stayed, who had retired, and the odds of the Cubs making it all the way to the World Series. Reid, who would usually be spitting out facts and statistics faster than the speed of the plane they sat on, had been unusually quiet the whole time.

"Yeah," Reid says as he loosens the knot on his tie just a tiny bit. "I'm fine. I just don't understand why you two had to drag me along. JJ likes baseball."

"Aw, come on kid." Morgan sits forward in his seat on the other side of Rossi, reaching across the older profiler and patting Reid on the knee. "Consider it boys' night out. You'll have fun. I promise. Besides, my mother has been dying to see you."

Reid can't help but smile at the idea of Fran Morgan being eager to see him. He'd first met Mrs. Morgan several years ago, when the team had been unexpectedly called out to Chicago to prove Morgan's innocence in a homicide case. It had been him and JJ that interviewed Morgan's family, and his little sister even told Reid that Morgan talks about him at home. It was the first time that Reid had started to see Morgan as a friend, rather than just a colleague. He had went back to visit the family three times after that - twice for Morgan's birthday and once when his mother had a schizophrenic break on Christmas Day. Her doctor advised that Reid not visit that year, but Morgan couldn't stand the thought of Reid spending the holiday alone, so he invited him to Chicago with him.

"Is she making peach cobbler?" Reid shifts in his seat slightly. His long legs don't help ease his uncomfortableness in the slightest. His bony knees scrape against the hard plastic of the seat in front of him, and his muscles are beginning to cramp from lack of stretching. Reid rests his head against the back of his seat and closes his eyes as a slight but noticeable tinge of queasiness washes over him.

"Maybe, but you'll have to save a piece for Penelope. You know how she gets if I don't bring her any home."

"Oh, trust us. _We know."_ Rossi laughs, recalling the one time that the entire team traveled to Chicago for a case. Morgan had promised her his mother's famous peach cobbler, but when Morgan made the mistake of dozing off on the jet, the rest of the team raided the fridge and ate the whole thing. When they got back to the BAU, it sure was a sight to watch Morgan being chased around the bullpen by their technical analyst, who yielded a stack of files and beat him on the back of the head with them every time she got close enough.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are expected to land in roughly ten minutes. Please secure all belongings, remain seated, and fasten your seatbelts. As always, thank you for flying with us!"

As the voice echoes through a white speaker above them, the three FBI agents buckle their seatbelts and fall silent. Morgan puts his headphones back over his ears and tries to relax, preparing himself to be tackled and harassed by his family when they land. Rossi takes the last few sips of his drink and slumps back in his seat, holding off on his excitement of seeing his favorite baseball team for a little while longer. Next to him, Reid rests his head back on the window, wishing he were back in the comfort of his own apartment, surrounded by physics books that he'd finish reading in ten minutes tops.

Once the plane is safely on the ground and its passengers have filed out, the three men gently push their way through a tightly packed airport. Morgan leads them, Rossi takes the middle, and Reid follows up the back of the line, nearly losing his friends amidst the sea of travelers a few times. They finally arrive at the baggage claim and collect their suitcases - small and only half-full, given that they will be returning to Quantico tomorrow afternoon.

"Okay," Morgan says, checking his watch and leading the group outside, "We still have about four hours before we head to Wrigley Field. You guys are welcome to check out the city if you want. I think I'll spend some time with the family."

Reid glances at Rossi and quickly turns away, but not before Rossi notices the anxious expression on his face. As much as Reid tries to hide it, all of his co-workers know how he feels about unfamiliar places. He gets fidgety, and sometimes starts to scratch at the bend of his arm if the crowds gets _too_ bad. "I think we'll just come with you, if that's okay." Reid's face relaxes almost instantly at Rossi's words, feeling even better when Morgan nods in agreement.

"Speaking of the devil…" A broad smile plasters itself to Morgan's face when his sister's car pulls up. It is no sooner than the car stops before a striking, tall, dark-skinned young woman practically hurls herself out the driver's side door. "I can't...breathe…" Morgan manages to pry himself away from his little sister's death-hug, holding her out at arm's length and taking in her appearance. "Have you been working out?" he teases, giving her arms a squeeze.

"Only so I can kick your ass." Desiree winks playfully at her brother, who begins picking up everyone's luggage and tossing it in the trunk. His sister turns to face Reid, almost having to stand on her tiptoes in order to ruffle the tall man's brown hair.

"Good to see you," Reid sincerely comments, leaning down to pull Desiree into a hug. Rossi watches the exchange with his eyebrows raised. In the years that he's come to know Reid, he rarely accepts a handshake, much less be the one to initiate a hug.

"You must be David Rossi," Desiree smiles sweetly at Rossi, who is not entirely unused to strangers recognizing him. In this case though, he guesses that the woman in front of him knows him because of Morgan's big mouth, rather than his best-selling books on serial killers.

"Piacere di conoscerti," Rossi greets with a small bow.

"Alright, _Italian Stallion,"_ Morgan closes the trunk and strides back over to the group, laying an arm across both his sister's and Reid's shoulders. "You're in my stomping grounds now. Hop in."

Once everyone is settled into the car, Desiree merges onto the busy highway in the direction of her mother's house, where she'd already informed Morgan that Fran and his other sister, Sarah, are waiting. In the backseat, Reid tunes out the ongoing conversation in the car, instead staring out the window at all the skyscrapers and bustling business people. Occasionally, especially when the car stops at a stoplight, he gets the feeling that the massive steel buildings on either side of the road are closing in on him. He's able to shake off the feeling fairly well, and avoid confrontation from the man sitting next to him.

Many things within the city are unfamiliar to Reid. He's been to Chicago a few times for both work and pleasure, but he is usually cooped up at either the police station or Morgan's house. He doesn't mind it, though. Less people means less anxiety and less germs. As they travel into the South Side district, the towering glass structures turn into run-down convenience stores with bars on the windows and partially dilapidated homes, showing every sign of a junkie living within its crumbling walls. Morgan's childhood neighborhood is notorious for gang violence and drugs, and Reid had once read in a government report that black residents outnumber white ones nearly sixty to one. Dr. Reid is by no means racist, but with statistics like that, it's safe to say he is severely out of place with his pasty skin and somewhat geeky demeanor.

"Reid?" His head snaps up at the sound of his name. Reid turns his head to see Rossi staring at him worriedly. By the look on his face, it isn't the first time that Rossi has attempted to gain his attention. "You good?"

A slight burning sensation presents itself on the delicate skin of Reid's arm. He looks down at it, only to realize that he'd been absentmindedly scratching at the barely-noticeable white scars again. Reid rolls his sleeve down past his elbow and presses himself a little further into his door. "Yeah. I'm good." Rossi nods and smiles, but something in his eyes tells Reid that he is unconvinced. "Hey, did you know that the Chicago Cubs have thirteen players with a batting average above zero point two-fifty? It's largely accepted that anything between zero point two-fifty and zero point three-zero is considered average, while players below that score is said to be having a bad season."

"What about really good batters?" Rossi asks, actually interested in the kid's statistical ramblings for once. Reid lets out a breath, thankful that he is able to take the attention off himself.

"An average above zero point three-zero is great, but unfortunately only one player on the Cubs has that, coming in at zero point three-three-three. Batting averages aren't entirely trustworthy though. They vary depending on the skill level of an individual player. Someone with an average below zero point two-fifty may actually be more efficient than one above zero point-three."

"I thought you didn't like baseball?" Morgan calls out from the front seat, smirking at Reid in the rearview mirror.

"I don't," Reid replies matter-of-factly.

"Then how do you know that?"

Reid glares into the mirror for a moment, wondering why Morgan of all people would ask such an absurd question. Reid has never claimed to know _everything,_ but he does have an eidetic memory that prevents him from forgetting things once he's read them. "Oh, I don't know Morgan...maybe because you forced me to come to your house and watch basketball the other night. They were talking about it during a commercial break."

"Hey, I was bored that night! Do you honestly think I wanted to hear you giving me a mathematical play-by-play during the NCAA tournament?" Morgan's words are harsh, but the look on his face is kind and gentle. Reid is used to the older man picking on him. At first, it kind of bothered him because he tends to take everything literally and jokes often zoom right over his head. But over time, Reid has come to like it. It's Morgan's strange way of showing that he cares.

"Of course I didn't think that. I just thought that all six of your girlfriends were unavailable at the time." Reid crosses his arms over his chest, smirking almost proudly. Next to him, Rossi's eyes travel back and forth between the two agents. He certainly isn't accustomed to Dr. Spencer Reid being so comfortable in a conversation, much less cracking jokes of his own.

"Derek!" There is a thump, followed by an "ouch!" Reid brings a hand up to his face to hide his laughter when Morgan's little sister reaches over and hits him square in the chest.

"I do _not_ have six girlfriends!" He pleads. "Reid is full of it!"

"Don't talk about my favorite big brother like that!" Desiree replies.

"He's not even your brother! You know what?" Morgan presses himself into his seat and trains his head forward, though Reid is sure his eyes are burning a hole into the mirror behind his sunglasses. "Forget it. You're dead, kid."

"Dead. Adjective. The National Conference of Commissioners on Uniform State Laws, in 1980, formulated the Uniform Determination of Death act. It states that an individual who has sustained either irreversible cessation of circulatory and respiratory functions, or irreversible cessation of all functions of the entire brain, including the brainstem, is dead."

A loud, exaggerated sigh travels from the front seat to the back. Morgan throws his head against his seat dramatically, reaches down, and turns the radio onto a local hip-hop station. He doesn't notice that, in the back seat, even Rossi is trying to stifle a laugh. _This is gonna be great,_ he thinks. When Reid is in town, even Morgan's family takes the genius' side in their brother-like banter.

* * *

Twenty minutes and four more playful arguments later, Rossi and Reid are sitting at Mrs. Morgan's kitchen table playing a game of cards while Morgan catches up with his family. Desiree is perched on the counter, watching closely as her mother whips up a hearty meal but not offering any help. Morgan stands in the doorway, protesting as Sarah fusses over a scar from a bullet wound that he hadn't had the last time he visited.

"You know I can't quit!" Morgan is saying to her. "It isn't just a job. It's who I _am._ Besides, these dorks are my family, too." At the mention of himself, Rossi glares at Morgan over his hand of cards, his grayish eyebrows arching up as more of a warning than confusion.

"Dorks?" He asks. "I mean, Reid I can see -"

" _Thanks."_

"But me? I'll have you know that I am a three-time best-selling author and a founding member of the BAU. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't even have this job." Rossi's voice is calm, controlled, and may even seem arrogant to anyone who doesn't know him that well. He has an incredible poker face, which sometimes makes it difficult to tell when he's joking.

"Straight flush," Reid announces, laying down the Queen, Jack, ten, nine, and eight of hearts with a satisfied grin. He then reaches in and swipes all of the chocolate pieces from the center of the table, which they'd been using as makeshift poker chips. Seeing the perplexed look on Rossi's face, Reid offers him a bit of advice for next time. "It is advisable not to play poker against a provable genius and magician who grew up in Las Vegas. I'm banned from one-hundred and three casinos within the city limits. Guess how many casinos there are in Las Vegas?" Everyone in the kitchen is quiet, knowing that Reid is going to answer for them anyway. "One-hundred and four. That face only gets you so far, Agent Rossi."

"Hey, can I have one of those?" Laughing, Desiree hops down from the counter and grabs a piece of chocolate, popping it into her mouth and smiling at Rossi teasingly.

"I think I'm just gonna go change into my jersey," he announces, rising from his chair and patting Reid on the back as he walks out of the room.

"I don't understand what got you so interested in this whole 'be everyone's hero' thing anyway!" Sarah continues once Rossi has retreated into the living room. Reid's back stiffens at the words, and he dares to twist around and look at his friend.

Morgan still stands in the doorway, every muscle in his body suddenly tense. He closes his eyes briefly, bites his bottom lip, and opens them again with a sigh. When he speaks, his voice is surprisingly controlled. "I just want to make Dad proud," he says. Reid's heart aches a little at the words. He knows that Morgan isn't lying entirely, but he also knows that he isn't being completely truthful. Morgan's father was a police officer with the Chicago PD, and had been gunned down right in front of his son when Morgan was just ten years old. He's never went into detail about it with Reid, but the younger agent knows it still haunts him.

After that, no one says anything else until Mrs. Morgan announces that dinner is ready. At the smell of Polish sausage and onions, Rossi returns to the kitchen like a starving pit bull. Everyone takes their seats around the table, and Morgan and Reid glance at one another awkwardly when Mrs. Morgan says a little prayer. As a man of science and reason, Reid has never believed in a higher, spiritual being. Morgan's faith is touch-and-go at best, for the very same reason that he joined the Bureau. Reid hopes that he isn't being _too_ obvious in the way that he looks at his best friend, wondering whether or not he should bring the topic up when they get a little privacy. Eventually, he decides against it and digs into his meal, genuinely happy to be surrounded by the people that he's come to care for like family.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I know this chapter doesn't seem to have enough drama in it, but I usually write really heavy stuff so I was kind of desperate for a light, kind of fluffy chapter. I didn't go into great detail about the baseball game because I didn't want to use real names in my story, but if you're a Cubs fan I'm sure you'll know who the last batter is. Also, a special thanks to tannerose5 for their review that inspired me to add the cute little Desiree/Reid crush thing. I can't imagine any woman not having a crush on him! As always, I do not own the Cubs, Cardinals, Bears, or Criminal Minds. The next chapter will likely be the last and should be up soon.**

Once everyone has eaten far more than they needed, Rossi offers to clean up the kitchen like the true gentleman that he is. This comes with some protest from Fran, but he eventually manages to shoo them all away and gets to work on the dishes. As he is drying the plates, he smiles to himself at the banter floating through the other room. The Morgan siblings pick on one another every chance they get and Sarah and Desiree are especially eager to embarrass their brother in front of his friends.

"Hey Ma, do you still have that picture of Derek when he was three years old and got into your makeup?"

"I did no such thing!" Morgan's voice goes up into a whiny pitch, in stark contrast from his usual calm and controlled manner. "Don't listen to her, Reid. Des is just excited because she has a crush on you!"

There is a protest, a scream, and then a thump. Rossi hangs his dish towel over the back of a chair to dry and heads into the living room to see what all the commotion is about. He can practically feel the heat coming off of Reid's cheeks as soon as walks through the doorway. The genius is sitting awkwardly at one end of the couch while Morgan has jumped on top of his sister on the other. In a love seat across from them, Sarah is laughing uncontrollably while Fran fusses at her children to behave for their guests. Derek ignores this of course, seeing Rossi and Reid as family rather than guests.

"Derek, stop it!" Desiree wriggles and squeals underneath of her brother but doesn't stand a chance in escaping his strong grip. "Sarah! Do something!" Her sister is quick to her feet, pouncing on top of Morgan's back and wrapping her arms around his neck. Reid presses himself further into the side of the couch and hides a shy grin. As an only child and having grown up caring for his mother, he isn't accustomed to the family atmosphere in the Morgan household. While slightly uncomfortable, he can't help but feel happy for them and can see why Sarah wants her brother to quit the FBI and come back home.

"Fight! Fight!" Rossi shouts from the doorway, acting like a small child as he pumps his fist wildly into the air. Reid and Fran share glances across the room, both of them clearly less amused by the wrestling match on the couch and baffled at Rossi's encouragement.

"I do _not_ have a crush on Reid!" Desiree squeaks in between tickles, "You do!"

"Hey! He might be my Pretty Boy, but he isn't exactly my type," Morgan retorts as he digs his fingernails deeper into Desiree's armpits and struggles against the headlock of his other sister.

Reid watches Morgan's shoulder blades tense violently underneath of his tee shirt as Sarah teases, "And just why not? Are you a homophobe?" Everyone in the room knows perfectly well that Morgan is not a homophobe nor would he discriminate against anyone for anything, but the word makes him freeze up just long enough for Desiree to escape his wrath and scuttle over to the doorway, concealing her body behind Rossi and sticking her tongue out at her brother in victory.

"Desiree!" Fran scolds, "Language!"

"Sorry, Mama." Sarah and Morgan both settle back down onto the couch as Desiree slumps back over and sits on the edge nearest her brother. "Just admit it Derek! I bet you're dying to get on the kiss cam with him tonight!"

By now, Reid has buried his rosy cheeks into his hands. While he finds the family's badgering to be quite entertaining, he'd prefer it much more if he were not the center of said teasing. He is too caught up in his own embarrassment to register the conversation that follows.

"You're just saying that because you want to see it happen," Morgan shoots back, flashing his sister a challenging but light-hearted glare. When they lock eyes, their demeanor changes entirely. A devious smile stretches across Morgan's face, and the look given to him by both of the girls suggests they know exactly what he is thinking.

Rossi and Fran both watch, half-amused and half-empathetically, as Morgan jolts himself from one end of the couch to the other and crashes on top of Reid. The younger man hadn't been expecting the sudden attack, making it all the more easy for Morgan to tear his hands away from his face and plant a big wet kiss on both of his cheeks. "Ew! Morgan!" Reid writhes underneath of Morgan's strong grip and somehow manages to escape onto the floor, where he lies on his back and rubs at his cheeks violently.

Laughing triumphantly, Morgan stands above him and offers a hand to help him up. He is met with a glare as Reid says, "Do you have any idea how many germs are transmitted through kissing?"

"Awe...come on, Pretty Boy. You know you liked it." Morgan flashes Reid his best lady-killing grin, who rolls his eyes and eventually lets Morgan pull him to his feet. Morgan smacks him on the back fondly and announces that he is going to his room to change for the game.

Feeling very much in the spotlight as soon as Morgan has left, Reid wraps his arms around his torso and hugs himself. Desiree stands up and puts an arm around his lanky shoulders. "Sorry to throw you into all that, Spencer. We were just having a good time."

Reid smiles back at her softly, knowing that they meant no harm in the silliness. It probably wouldn't have bothered anyone else in the way that it did him, but that is only because he is a bit of a germaphobe and has never really had a family to play around with. He had to admit, it actually felt kind of nice.

"I know. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to wash my face until my skin falls off." Reid shudders at the cool sensation of someone else's saliva on his cheeks as he walks down the hallway and towards the bathroom. He can feel all eyes on him as he goes, but it doesn't bother him nearly as much as usual.

* * *

Once he's washed each cheek three times and his hands for two minutes straight, Reid adjusts his tie in the mirror and exits the bathroom. As he passes Morgan's partially cracked door, his friend calls out to him. "Kid. C'mere a sec."

Reid slowly pushes Morgan's door open and steps quietly inside, feeling as if he is somehow violating Morgan's personal life by looking around his bedroom. Judging by the football comforter on a twin-sized bed that is clearly too short for him now and various trophies sitting high on wooden shelves, Reid suspects the room has been left untouched since Morgan graduated high school and moved away for college.

Morgan is standing in front of a full-length mirror on the other side of his bed finishing up the last two buttons of his Cubs jersey when he spots Reid in the reflection. When he sees how raw his cheeks are from scrubbing away his kisses, he can't help but feel a twinge of guilt. "Sorry about that," he says, gesturing towards his own cheeks. "I just got caught up in being back here with my family."

"It's fine." Reid quickly dismisses the apology. "It was... _fun..._ to feel included, I mean." Reid's eyes bounce around the room without looking at anything in particular as Morgan turns around to face him. There is mock-shock in his voice when he speaks again.

"Did I just hear Dr. Reid say that he had _fun?_ Without mathematics or chemistry? If things keep going at this rate, we just might win the World Series this year!"

Despite the teasing, Reid's brain begins to swim with all of the facts and statistics anyone could ever imagine about the likelihood of the Cubs winning the World Series for two years in a row, especially after a one hundred and eight year drought. Morgan watches with a smirk as Reid bites the inside of his cheek to keep from babbling about it all.

Taking a few steps forward, Morgan's face hardens as he looks at Reid seriously. "Reid, I know you don't have much of a family other than your mom. You're welcome here anytime. What's mine is yours."

Reid's head snaps up to meet Morgan. Tears swim in his eyes at his friend's kind words, but he doesn't allow them to fall. All his life, he'd been teased, betrayed, and abandoned by his family, his peers, and even Gideon whom he thought he could trust. He doesn't take it lightly when someone genuinely cares for him and wants him in their life.

"I know, Morgan." His eyes shift to the floor as he feels his cheeks start to warm up again. "Thanks."

"Anytime, Pretty Boy." Morgan smiles at Reid's reaction. He knows that Reid often feels left out of many things in life, and being able to include him in his personal life and show him how a real family should be is incredibly important to him. "Oh. I almost forgot why I asked you to come in here in the first place."

Morgan shuffles over to his closet and starts to rummage through it, leaving Reid to wander aimlessly around the room again. After what Morgan said, he doesn't feel quite as bad about eyeballing his things, and even walks over to the bedside table and picks up a picture frame. In it is a little boy no older than six on the shoulders of a man who appears to be around forty or so. Both of them are beaming at the camera as they stand in front of a football field. Reid recognizes the scoreboard in the background as belonging to Soldier Field, where the Chicago Bears play. He'd read about the demolishing and rebuilding of the football stadium in a government report several years ago.

"I see you found my Pops." Reid starts at the soft voice just to the left of his ear, having not realized that Morgan found whatever he was looking for and now stood just a few inches away from him. Suddenly feeling as if he'd done something he shouldn't have, Reid returns the frame to its exact spot on the table, muttering a quick apology to Morgan.

"He used to get us season passes to the Bears every year." Morgan smiles sadly as memories of his late father flood his mind. Reid shifts from foot to foot, feeling awkward again in the suddenly emotional moment. "He always told me that he'd see me out on that field one day."

"I-I'm sorry." Reid's voice is low and slightly crackled. He doesn't do well in these kinds of situations and as far as he knows Morgan has never talked about his father with anyone on the team other than to tell them he is dead.

"He might've got to see that too, if I hadn't blown my knee out in college." This new fact about his friend peeks Reid's interest and he finally looks up, his heart sinking at the way Morgan stares down at the picture in longing.

"I didn't know you played football in college." Reid is pretty sure that no one else in the BAU knew that, either. There is no way Prentiss and JJ wouldn't pick on him about it every chance they had if they knew.

"Yeah, I don't usually talk about it. Football was mine and my Pop's thing. Once he was gone, I only kept playing to make him proud. And to get myself out of here." Reid swallows a lump in his throat as an uncomfortably-comfortable silence fills the room. He can almost hear exactly what they are both thinking, but again decides it best not to bring it up. Morgan is reserved by nature, and Reid knows it isn't his place to say anything. If Morgan wants to tell his family he will and in his own time.

"Your secret's safe with me." Reid shrugs lightly as the corner of his lips twitch up into a small smile. He hopes that Morgan picks up on the underlying meaning behind his words, but can't be certain as a baseball cap is swiftly shoved into his hands. He studies it gingerly, allowing his fingers to trace over the red "C" stitched into the brilliant blue wool above the brim, lightly outlined in white.

"I know, Reid." By the sincere tone in his voice, Reid is pretty sure that Morgan is well aware that his college football days are not the only thing he won't be revealing to anyone. "I appreciate it. Now let's go fly that W."

"Fly the what?" Reid asks innocently, his light brown eyebrows bunched up in a heap of confusion on his forehead.

Laughing at how clueless his favorite genius can be sometimes, Morgan puts an arm around Reid's shoulder and guides them both out of the room to find Rossi. "The things you're gonna learn today, kid."

* * *

The best thing about baseball, Reid decides, is that it gives him ample opportunity to brush up on his math skills - as if he _needs_ them to be brushed up on. He watches with concentration as a pitch is thrown, a bat is swung, and a loud crack resonates throughout the stadium. In a nearly impossible formula that involves the velocity of the pitch and the speed on the swing, Reid knows exactly where the ball is going to land before it gets there. _Out,_ he thinks proudly to himself just before the left fielder chases it down in his glove with ease.

On either side of him, Morgan and Rossi are on their feet cheering along with the rest of the crowd while Reid sits comfortably in his chair and tunes out all of the noises around him as he focuses solely on his mind. If it weren't for this steady process of adding, dividing, and multiplying numbers in his head, Reid supposes he might just have a panic attack surrounded by over forty thousand enthusiastic baseball fans.

When the group of three first arrived at Wrigley Field, it was Rossi who picked up on Reid's apprehension to the large crowd and unfamiliar surroundings. His hands had been shaking when he handed over his ticket to an employee at the front gate, and small beads of sweat trickled down his forehead despite the mild spring air. Rossi felt bad for the kid and ushered him in front of him, so that Reid would be sitting between his two friends and not have to be uncomfortably close to a stranger. He didn't know if Reid realized this was intentional or not, but Rossi knew that Reid's subconscious would be grateful.

It is the seventh inning stretch and Morgan announces that he is going to the concessions to grab himself a beer. Rossi is quick to stuff a wad of cash in his hands so that he can bring him one, too. When Morgan asks if Reid wants anything, he politely declines with a nervous lick to his lips. Morgan had noticed how tense Reid has been sitting next to him the whole game, and wishes he could do something to make Reid have a better time. He doesn't seem entirely bored though, which is enough for Morgan to not feel bad about dragging him along.

With Morgan gone and the players off the field, Rossi leans in to Reid so that he can be heard over the people bustling around them. "Having fun?"

"Yes," Reid nods his head enthusiastically. Almost _too_ enthusiastically, if you were to ask Rossi himself. The older profiler eyes him suspiciously before adding, "Who are you rooting for?"

Reid rests his chin on his hand in thought and Rossi can tell that his brain is going into overdrive as it compares batting averages and offensive skillsets to determine if the Cubs or Cardinals have the best shot of winning. Of course, there are many other things that could affect the outcome of the game and Reid knows this, such as injuries and the umpire making bad calls. Deciding that it is impossible to know who will win, Reid finally settles. "Cubs," he declares.

"Smart man." Rossi praises him as he pats Reid on the knee. Reid gives him a genuine smile and returns his attention to field, probably calculating how long it would take a turtle to round the bases or something. Rossi chuckles to himself amusedly as Morgan returns with two beers, a bottle of water, and a bag of peanuts. He tosses the bottle of water at Reid despite his insisting that he didn't want anything, who manages to catch it just on time.

The next two innings drag by without much happening. The Cardinals come up with a few singles and a double but never quite make it all the way home, and the Cubs consistently strike-out to the dismay of the crowd. By the bottom of the ninth the two teams are tied two to two. Reid is watching the batter with a painfully concentrated look on his face when Morgan looks down and notices him. He knows that the genius is most comfortable in his own mind, but he's had enough and wants to see Reid have some actual fun.

Reid jumps slightly when a strong hand clamps down on his wrist and pulls him to his feet. He stares at Morgan incredulously, who screams, "Come on, Pretty Boy. Get out of that big 'ole brain of yours for a little while!"

Resisting the urge to explain to Morgan that it is impossible to manually shut your brain down even in sleep, Reid turns his attention back to the field. The batter steps back and takes a few practice swings as the pitcher and catcher murmur about something on the mound. The Cubs have two outs already and the current batter is at a full count. If he doesn't manage to make something happen here, extra innings will be played and the Cardinals will have another chance at scoring.

Screams erupt around the outdoor stadium as the batter steps back into position and glares determinedly towards the pitcher's mound. Reid hadn't caught the player's name earlier, but he remembers how Morgan had told him that he'd been diagnosed with Hodgkin's lymphoma just one year after being drafted in the MLB. After six months of chemotherapy and the uncertainty of his future looming over his head, he fought against all odds and returned to the sport in full remission. For the first time that afternoon, Reid finds himself clapping his hands while cheering him on in his head. Anyone who overcomes that grueling of an obstacle deserves to hit the walk-off homer in Reid's eyes.

In what seems like painstakingly slow motion, the pitcher rotates his shoulder far behind him and arches his hand forward with great force, lunging a ninety-six mile an hour low ball through the air. The batter swings violently and as cork collides with wood, Reid wonders how anyone can have that much hand-eye coordination. As well as his brain works, his eyes barely have time to process what is happening before a small white blur is flying through the air, cruising over center field, and disappearing into the stands above. The roar of the crowd is deafening but all Reid focuses on is the fact that Morgan has pulled him into a giant bear hug and lifted his feet clear off the ground in his excitement.

Still whooping, Morgan replaces Reid back on the ground and high-fives Rossi over top of Reid's head. Reid has never understood why grown men get so excited over sports games, but the pure joy on both of his friends' faces helps him realize that he doesn't _need_ to understand it. They are ecstatic and that is all Reid needs to be happy, too. The entire arena breaks out into a song that Reid knows all of the words to because he'd read the lyrics once, and he can't help but join in as a bright white flag is raised high into the air above the field. It has a big blue "W" sewn right in the middle, and that's when Reid finally gets the answer to his question from before.


End file.
